Every Breath

by Nicholas Sparks

  Despite an overcast sky, the morning was warmer than it had been the day before, and the humidity had increased. The breeze, too, had picked up, all of which meant that Hope had been right about the possibility of storms this weekend. In the days leading up to rain in Zimbabwe, the air had a pregnant charge that felt much the same.

  There were already half a dozen men fishing from the pier by the time he started toward the steps, and he watched as one began to reel something in. It was too far away to make out any detail, but he took it as a good sign. He doubted whether he’d keep anything he caught; there was too much food in the refrigerator as it was. Nor was he in the mood to clean anything, especially since the knife in the tackle box seemed dull. But catching something was always a thrill.

  Entering the shop, he saw shelves filled with snacks and drinks crowding the center aisles; along the back wall was a grill that offered hot food. Assorted fishing gear was perched on racks and hung on pegs; near the door was a cooler, with a sign advertising bait. Tru plucked out a couple of containers of shrimp and brought them to the register. There was a fee to fish from the pier as well, and after receiving his change, Tru strolled out the door, past a pay phone, and down the pier. Despite the overcast sky, the sun had broken through momentarily, glinting hard off the water.

  Most of the people were clustered near the end, and assuming they knew more than he did, he took up a spot in their vicinity. Unlike the tackle box, the fishing pole was in like-new condition, and after baiting and weighting the line, he cast out into the water.

  In the corner of the pier a radio was playing, something country-western. Strangely, Andrew was a fan of Garth Brooks and George Strait, though Tru had no idea how he’d ever encountered their songs. When Andrew had mentioned their names a few months back, Tru had stared at him blankly, at which point Andrew had insisted that Tru listen to “Friends in Low Places.” It was catchy, he had to admit, but nothing could touch Tru’s loyalty to the Beatles.

  Whether consciously or subconsciously, Tru had selected the side of the pier that allowed him a view of Hope’s cottage in the distance. He reflected on their dinner and walk, realizing that she’d made him feel at ease the entire evening. For all their heady attraction, he’d seldom felt that way with Kim; all too often, he’d felt as though he was disappointing her. And even though they were now friends, there were times that he still felt as though he was disappointing her, especially when it came to the time he spent with Andrew.

  He’d also been taken with the way Hope had spoken about her friends and family. It was clear that she genuinely cared for all of them. She was naturally empathetic, not just sympathetic, and people like that struck him as rare. He’d sensed it even when they’d spoken about Andrew.

  Thinking about his son, he now wished he had postponed leaving for the trip, given that he wouldn’t see his father until Saturday afternoon. It was odd that the man hadn’t called to explain, but it irritated Tru only with regard to Andrew. He had awakened in the morning missing his son, and resolved to give Andrew a call from the pay phone he’d passed. It would have to be collect and the charges would be substantial, but Kim would let him reimburse her when he returned. With the time difference, and knowing Andrew was in school and had homework, Tru figured he still had a couple of hours to wait. He was already looking forward to his flight home on Monday.

  Except…

  Raising his eyes toward Hope’s cottage again, he smiled when he saw her trailing after Scottie as he trotted down the walkway, then the steps. At the beach, she bent over, releasing Scottie from the leash, and the dog took off running. There were no seagulls nearby, but he’d find them; of that Tru had no doubt. As he watched, he wondered whether Hope was thinking about him, and hoped that she’d enjoyed their evening together as much as he had.

  She drew farther from the pier with every step, her image growing smaller. He watched her anyway, until he registered a light movement on his line. When he felt a tug, he jerked the tip of the rod upward, sinking the hook, and all at once, the pull on the line intensified. He lowered the tip and began winding the reel, keeping just enough tension on the line, and was struck again by how strong fish were, no matter their size. They were all muscle. But he played the game, knowing the fish would eventually tire.

  Continuing to work the reel, he watched as a strange-looking fish eventually emerged from the water at the end of his line. He swung it to the pier, having no idea what to make of it. It was flat and oval, with two eyes on its back. Using the toe of his boot to keep it from flapping, he plucked a glove and pair of pliers from the toolbox and began to remove the hook, trying not to damage the fish’s mouth. As he was working, he heard a voice beside him.

  “That’s a helluva flounder. Big enough to keep, too.”

  Tru glanced up and saw an older man with a baseball cap, wearing clothes that were several sizes too large. He had a gap where his front teeth should have been and his accent, much heavier than Hope’s, was difficult to understand.

  “Is that what it is?”

  “Don’t tell me you ain’t never seen a flounder before.”

  “This is a first.”

  The man squinted at him. “Where you from?”

  Wondering whether the man had ever heard of Zimbabwe, he simply said, “Africa.”

  “Africa! You don’t look like you’re from Africa.”

  By then Tru had removed the hook, and setting the pliers aside, he grabbed the fish and was about to toss it over when he heard the man speak up.

  “Whatcha doin’?”

  “I was going to let it go.”

  “Can I have it? I ain’t had much luck yesterday or this morning. I’d sure appreciate some flounder for dinner.”

  Tru debated before shrugging. “Sure.”

  The man reached over and took the fish, crossing back to the other side of the pier, where it vanished into a small cooler.

  “Thank you,” the man called out.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Tru readied his line again, casting out a second time. By then, Hope was nothing but a smudge in the distance.

  He recognized her anyway, and for a long time, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  * * *

  Hope kept watch over Scottie, calling for the dog to come whenever he approached the dune, not that he ever seemed to listen. Hoping that Scottie would suddenly begin to obey was an exercise in futility. Of course, it fit perfectly with how her morning was already going.

  Immediately after waking, she’d heard the phone begin to ring in the kitchen. Hope had to wrap the blanket around herself and stubbed her toe on the corner as she’d raced to answer it. She’d thought it might be Josh, but she remembered the time difference in the same instant she heard Ellen crying on the other end. Sobbing, actually—at first Hope had no idea what Ellen was trying to tell her. It was all Ellen could do to choke out a few words here and there. Hope initially believed that the wedding had been called off, and it took a while for her to decipher that Ellen was crying about the weather. Between sobs, Ellen informed Hope that it was supposed to start raining later today, and that storms were virtually certain over the weekend.

  It struck Hope as a bit of an overreaction, but Ellen remained inconsolable, no matter what she told her. Not that Hope had the chance to do much talking. The phone call was more like listening to a weepy forty-minute monologue about the unfairness of life. As her friend went on and on, Hope leaned against the counter with her legs crossed and toe still throbbing, absently wondering if Ellen would even notice if she set the phone down to use the bathroom. She really, really had to pee, and by the time she was finally able to get Ellen off the phone, she had to ditch the blanket and hobble as fast as she could.

  After that, as though some deity had it out for both Tru and Hope, her coffee maker went on the blink. The light came on but the water wouldn’t heat, and Hope debated whether to boil some water and pour it through the grounds. By then, however, Scottie was at the door and she knew t
hat if she didn’t get him outside soon, she would have a mess to clean up. So, throwing on some clothes, she brought her dog to the beach, hoping to salvage the morning with a relaxing walk. But Scottie made that impossible. On two different occasions, he ran to the top of the dune and up someone’s walkway—either trying to find that cat again or purposely attempting to give her a heart attack—and she had to scramble after him. She supposed she could put the leash back on, but Scottie would likely alternate between trying to pull her arm off and sulking, and she wasn’t in the mood for either.

  Despite all that…

  While on the phone, she’d seen Tru walk past her house on the way to the pier with his fishing gear and couldn’t help smiling. She still had trouble believing she’d actually had dinner with him. Her thoughts drifted back to their conversation…she was surprised by how pleasant the evening had been, and how effortlessly they’d seemed to get along.

  She wondered whether he’d take her advice and visit Kindred Spirit after he finished fishing. With storms on the way, tomorrow would probably be too late, but that went for her as well. After her appointments, she guessed she might have some extra time to swing by the mailbox, and as she walked the beach, she made the decision to do just that.

  But she had to get going or she’d be late. She had a hair appointment in Wilmington at nine and a pedicure at eleven. She also wanted to see if she could find an appropriate pair of shoes to wear to the wedding—the burgundy pumps that Ellen had picked out for the bridesmaids pinched her feet terribly, and she’d decided she couldn’t spend the whole night in agony. Traffic would probably be heavy, and cutting the walk short, she called to Scottie before turning around. Not long after, Scottie barreled past her with his tongue hanging out. As she watched him run, she glanced toward the pier. She could see a cluster of people, but they were nothing but shadows, and she wondered whether Tru was having any luck.

  Back at the cottage, she dried Scottie with a towel, then took a quick shower. Afterward, she dressed in jeans, a blouse, and sandals. She’d worn pretty much the same outfit the day before, but when she glanced in the mirror, she couldn’t help feeling that she looked different—prettier, maybe, or even more desirable—and she understood that she was seeing herself as a stranger might see her. The way Tru had seen her last night, as they’d sat across the table from each other.

  With that realization came another decision. Hope rummaged through the drawer beneath the phone, finding everything she needed. After scribbling the note, she left through the back door and descended to the beach. Taking the steps and using the walkway at the house next door, she tacked the note next to the latch of the gate, where Tru couldn’t help but find it.

  She returned the way she’d come and grabbed her handbag as she headed out the door. As she got in her car, she let out a deep breath, wondering what was going to happen next.

  * * *

  Tru wasn’t sure what Hope had done.

  He’d seen her emerge onto the back deck, maybe forty minutes after she’d returned from her walk with Scottie, and then make her way to the house where he was staying. He felt a pang of disappointment at the thought that she’d gone to see him when he wasn’t there, but at the gate, she’d stopped. He supposed she might have been debating whether or not to proceed to the back door, but she was only there for a few seconds before she retraced her steps and vanished inside her parents’ cottage. He hadn’t seen her since.

  Strange.

  His thoughts remained on her. It would have been easy to chalk his feelings up to infatuation, maybe desperation. Kim, no doubt, would agree with that. Since the divorce, his ex would occasionally ask him whether he’d met anyone. When he would reply that he hadn’t, she’d jokingly suggest that he was so out of practice that he’d probably end up falling head over heels in love with the first woman who so much as glanced at him.

  That wasn’t what was going on here. He wasn’t infatuated with Hope, nor was he desperate, but he admitted to himself that he found her arresting. Ironically, it had something to do with Kim. Early on, he’d realized that Kim knew exactly how attractive she was and that she’d spent a lifetime learning to use it to her advantage. Hope seemed to be the opposite, even though she was equally beautiful, and it spoke to him in the same intuitive way as when he finished a drawing and thought, That’s exactly the way it should be.

  He knew that it wasn’t appropriate to think such things, if only because nothing good could come of it. Not only was he leaving on Monday, but Hope would return to her life on Sunday, a life that included the man she thought she’d marry, even if they were having difficulties at present. Nor, with their respective weekends on tap, was he sure he’d even see Hope again.

  Feeling another tug on the line, he played the game, timed it right, and set the hook. After a struggle that surprised him, he ended up pulling in a fish different from the flounder, but one he still didn’t recognize. The older man in the ball cap wandered back toward him, watching as Tru began to remove the hook.

  “That’s a helluva whiting,” the man said.

  “Whiting?”

  “English Whiting. Sea mullet. Big enough to keep, too. Sure would be nice to cook it up. If you were planning to throw it back, I mean.”

  Tru handed over the fish, watching as it vanished into the cooler again.

  He didn’t have much luck the rest of the morning, but by then it was time to call Andrew. He packed up his things, walked to the shop, and got some change, then went to the pay phone. It took half a minute and a lot of coins to get through to an international operator, but eventually he heard the familiar ring as the call was placed.

  When Kim answered, she agreed to accept the charges, and Andrew came on the line. His son had all sorts of questions about America, most of which had to do with various movies he’d seen. He seemed disappointed to learn that there weren’t endless shootouts on the streets, people in cowboy hats, or movie stars on every corner. After that, the conversation settled into something more normal and Tru listened as Andrew caught him up on what he’d been doing in the past few days. The sound of his voice made Tru ache at the thought that the two of them were half a world apart. For his part, Tru told Andrew about the beach and described the two fish he’d caught; he also told him about Scottie, and how Tru had gone to help him. They spoke longer than Tru had anticipated—nearly twenty minutes—before Tru heard Kim reminding Andrew that he still had homework to do. She popped on the line after Andrew.

  “He misses you,” she said.

  “I know. I miss him, too.”

  “Have you seen your father yet?”

  “No,” he answered. He told her about the meeting planned for Saturday afternoon. When he finished, Kim cleared her throat. “What was that I heard about a dog? It was hit by a car?”

  “It wasn’t that serious,” Tru said before repeating the story. He made the mistake of mentioning Hope by name, and Kim immediately latched onto that.

  “Hope?”

  “Yes.”

  “A woman?”

  “Obviously.”

  “I’m assuming that you two hit it off.”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “Because you know her name, which means that the two of you spent some time in conversation. Which is something you never do anymore. Tell me about her.”

  “There’s not much to tell.”

  “Did the two of you go out?”

  “Why is that important?”

  Instead of answering, Kim laughed. “I can’t believe it! You’ve finally met a woman, and in America of all places! Has she ever been to Zimbabwe?”

  “No…”

  “I want to hear all about her. In exchange, I won’t ask you to reimburse me for the call…”

  Kim stayed on the line for ten minutes, and though Tru did his best to downplay his feelings about Hope, he could almost hear Kim smiling on the other end. By the time he hung up, he was disconcerted by the call, and he took his time on the walk back up the beach. Be
neath a belt of clouds that were turning the color of lead, he wondered how Kim could have deduced as much as she had so quickly. Even if he accepted the idea that she knew him better than almost anyone, it struck him as uncanny.

  Women were indeed the mysterious sex.

  A short while later, as he mounted the steps to the back deck, he was startled by the sight of a piece of white paper tacked near the latch. Realizing that Hope must have left it for him—and that was the reason she’d come by—he removed the tack and read the note.

  Hi there! I’m heading out to Kindred Spirit today. If you’d like to join me, meet me on the beach at three.

  He raised an eyebrow. Definitely the mysterious sex.

  Inside the house, he found a pen and wrote a response. Remembering that she’d said she had some appointments, he left through the front door, walked to her place, and tucked the note into the door jamb next to the knob of her front door. Her car, he noticed, wasn’t in the drive.

  Back at the house, he did a workout and then had a bite to eat. As he sat at the table, he gazed out the window at a sky that was slowly growing more ominous, hoping that the rain would hold off, at least until the evening.

  * * *

  Ellen had recommended not only the salon in Wilmington, but the stylist, Claire, as well. As Hope took a seat, she eyed the reflection of a woman with multiple piercings in her ears, a black studded dog collar, and black hair with purple streaks. She wore tight black pants and a black sleeveless top, completing the ensemble. Silently, Hope wondered what Ellen had been thinking.

  It turned out that Claire had worked in Raleigh before moving to Wilmington earlier this year, and Ellen had been a loyal customer. Hope still wasn’t sure, but saying a little prayer to herself, she settled back in the chair. After asking her questions about the length and style she was interested in, Claire kept up a steady stream of chatter. When Hope gasped at the sight of nearly three inches of hair being lopped off, Claire promised that Hope would be thrilled before going on with whatever she’d been talking about in the first place.